


Heatwave

by hufflecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi!Dean, First Meeting, Gay Club, Human AU, M/M, gogo dancers, handjobs, night club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflecas/pseuds/hufflecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds himself at a bar he's never been to before, and anything can happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Originally partially written as a series of texts to [Dearhumanbeings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearhumanbeings/pseuds/Dearhumanbeings) while stuck at a border crossing.
> 
> Title taken from "Heatwave" by Alphabeat, check it out if you want to hear the song that Cas is dancing to.
> 
> Thanks to my beautiful and patient betas [1337nik](http://archiveofourown.org/users/1337nik) and Andréa. ;3

Dean’s never been to this bar before. Hell, he’s never been in any gay bar before. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. Dean had started at Harvelle’s, much like any other Saturday night. However, after Sam had called it a night Dean had still felt… restless. Itchy.

So Dean isn’t quite sure what he’s doing here at Prism at 1am on a Saturday night, nervously nursing his second beer. He’s managed to plaster himself against the wall in what seems a relatively safe and anonymous corner.

It’s not too anonymous, however. He’s already found out what other uses other patrons have for such dark, out of the way spots.

Dean surveys the room. Much like any other nightclub it’s dark, noisy, crowded, and smells like sweat, stale cigarettes, and spilled drinks. Unlike other clubs Dean may have patronized in the past, however, this one is populated almost exclusively by men. A significant number of them are young, shirtless, and attractive as hell.

Not that Dean would know anything about that last point.

There are several raised areas across the dance floor, flooded in pulsing light and lined by thin railings. A good dozen or so club dancers are using them to shake it for all they’re worth, “shaking it” being the operative term for most of them. These men, or even boys, have not been hired for any inherent sense of rhythm.

Except for one.

Dean has to push his way past one particular platform on his way to the bar for beer number three. He wouldn’t have seen him otherwise. Dean apparently has a hard time staying on his own two feet when navigating his way across as treacherous a place as a nightclub dance floor.

He slips on a beer bottle, of all things.

His foot goes shooting out from under him, all cartoon style. He flings out an arm instinctively to steady himself and it lands on one of the dancers’ railings. He may have saved himself from falling flat on his ass but he’s attracted attention to himself, he’s sure. 

“Hey, hey, are you alright?” The words are accompanied by a steady hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it’s---” Dean raises his head to find the source of the voice and finds the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Blue eyes pierce through the flashing lights of the dance floor. Dean’s eyes travel from sweat-soaked black hair, down a lean, muscular body, to electric blue booty shorts that don’t leave too much to the imagination.

Dean licks his lips.

“I said, are you--”

Dean snaps to his senses. Somewhat. “S’cool. Thanks.” He has to practically yell to be heard above the din.

The dancer straightens then, flashing Dean a toothy grin.

Dean can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved when the man resumes his dance, sinking back into the beat of the song easily.

Dean continues his beeline to the bar but opts for something stronger than beer. Two shots of whiskey later he’s feeling hot and over-dressed in his worn leather jacket and plaid button-up. Christ, this place is a furnace. No wonder most of the patrons are half-naked.

Dean breathes easier when he shucks his two outer layers before slapping a dollar bill on the counter of the coat check. At least he doesn’t stand out so much any more. Looking around, he’s suddenly grateful for the broken washer that forced him to wear a black t-shirt nearly two sizes too small. He fits right in.

Dean moves through the crowd easier now. He can see his blue-eyed dancer from across the room. The man snaps and rolls his hips easily to the music. He keeps his arms raised above his head, like most of the other dancers do. Dean wonders if he’s been instructed to do so to better show off that body of his.

Dean weaves through the people dancing and grinding and making out to get closer to his dancer’s platform. He can’t help but notice the way the dancer’s muscles move under his tanned skin. He’s got ink, too. In addition to some script over his hipbone, there’s a pair of folded feathery wings along the length of the inside of his forearm. They just make him more gorgeous. Dean never could resist a woman with tattoos, so why would this be any different?

Lucky for Dean he’s got enough liquid courage in him to make his way not just into the middle of the dance floor, but right beside the beautiful blue-eyed dancer. Dean has to sidestep more than a few drunken couples (and possibly trios) to make it safely across the room. He’s not making that mistake again.

When he does make it back to the platform, the gorgeous blue-eyed dancer is nowhere to be seen. How did that happen? Dean could swear he’d only looked away for a moment. Lights swirl and bodies surge. It would be hard to keep track of an elephant in this place. Dean whips his head around, looking for a familiar flash of blue, or maybe one of those tattoos.

But he’s gone.

Fuck. Just his luck.

Dean spends no longer than the next song circling the dance floor, trying to find someone, or something, to catch his eye. 

It’s pointless. Dean would rather go home empty-handed than admit to himself he’d fixated on one person. One man. Dejected, sour, and maybe just a little embarrassed, Dean retrieves his coat and slinks outside. There’s no way he was under the spell of blue eyes and tight abs that easily, no way. 

There’s still a decent number of people lingering outside the club so Dean skirts around the front of the building, into an alley that is, thankfully, devoid of inhabitants. He takes care to not think about how much booze and piss the place may or may not smell like. Reaching into his pocket, Dean draws out his beaten up pack of cigarettes and lighter. The first drag hits him like sinking into a hot bathtub after a ten-hour shift at the garage. Dean knows he should quit, but having this pack as long as he has proves the habit isn’t serious. Dean loses himself in his head so far that he doesn’t hear the side door from the club open into the alley.

“That’s a disgusting habit, you know,” a low voice rumbles from behind him.

Christ, if he hasn’t heard that a thousand times. Dean wheels around, ready to give this dick a piece of his mind.

Oh.

It’s the dancer from before, the one Dean had given up on. He’s covered up now; he’s thrown on one of those black puffy jackets and a pair of track pants over his shorts. Unfortunately. He’s thrust both hands into his pockets against the cool night air.

If Dean was attracted to this man before, then he’s in over his head now as he watches the other man roll his neck slowly back and forth, stretching.

“That’s sort of subjective, isn’t it?” Dean flicks a spot of ash on the ground, as casually as he can manage.

“Oh?” 

“I dunno… I guess I never listened to all those talks they give you in elementary school. Or they just didn’t work.”

The other man laughs. “You think smoking makes you look cool?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s worked for me before.” With women, Dean thinks. Not this.

“I imagine it would be like kissing an ashtray.” 

“You’ve seriously never kissed a smoker before?”

“No. Why do you find that so hard to believe?”

Courage swells up in Dean’s chest, however faltering it may be. “Would you like to?”

The other man’s eyebrows raise in surprise. 

Dean takes a step towards closing the distance between them. 

“You’re a lot smoother out here than you were tripping all over yourself on the dancefloor.” A mischievous grin accompanies those impossibly blue eyes.

“Shit.” Dean rubs his hand over his jaw and looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I was hoping you didn’t recognise me.”

“Why not?” The head tilt and squinted eyes are more endearing than they should be.

“‘Cause like you said, I’m usually a lot smoother than that.”

“I’m glad you weren’t though.” 

Something thrums deep in Dean’s gut as their eyes lock again.

“I probably wouldn’t have seen you otherwise.”

The cigarette that was already half burned away is forgotten entirely as it’s dropped to the ground. Dean surges forward and kisses the man, who must not have been entirely surprised by the action because his lips open up easily under Dean’s. Dean takes this as one more sign of encouragement and soon his hands are circling around the man’s waist, and there are hands in Dean’s hair.

And Dean’s kissing him. 

A dude.

He should be more freaked out than he is, maybe, but he’s just far enough over that line of buzzed versus not that he could chalk this whole thing up to the alcohol. Or maybe it’s time to get over all of that. But right now there’s hot lips and just a little stubble and a tongue working its way down Dean’s jaw towards his neck. Dean feels a nibble above his collarbone and that’s all his body needs, apparently, before he’s pressing his hard cock against the other man’s hip.

Dean groans as the man shifts his hips away to instead palm Dean through his jeans. Now it’s his turn to mouth down an angled jaw that smells like sweat and something crisp and clean.  
The man’s rough voice breaks through the pounding in Dean’s ears. “I don’t normally--”

“What, do this? Yeah, neither do I.” He grins against the man’s neck. “Guess you just bring something out in me.”

“We’d better count both ourselves lucky, then.” He lifts his hands to Dean’s shoulders, firmly guiding him to the nearest wall. Although he’s a couple inches shorter than Dean, he’s strong. He presses the length of their bodies together, making Dean feel like he couldn’t move too far even if he wanted. 

Dean leans into all the touch, canting his hips forward even more when the other man slips his hands under the waistband of his jeans. He undoes the button and fly deftly with one hand and it hits Dean that this guy has done this before. Maybe not in an alleyway, before even knowing the other person’s name, but he’s been inside a guy’s pants before. 

“One-handed,” Dean says with a smirk, “Nice work.”

“I’ve been told I’m rather good with my hands.”

Dean can’t dwell on his thoughts too much more because there’s a fist, hot and smooth, wrapping itself around his hard cock, easing it out of his pants. The man swipes his thumb over the head, drawing a sound from Dean’s lips he didn’t know he could make. He thrusts into the offered hand as he covers the man’s mouth again with his own. Now he’s making noises against furious kisses, and it must serve only as encouragement because this guy is picking up his pace, pulling his hand up and down Dean’s length, each twist he makes over Dean’s head eased by the precome that has built up there.

The sensations of this man’s hands, and lips, and body all pressed against Dean are nearly too much for him to take, but he still needs more. He presses the heel of his hand against the man’s erection, hoping for a positive response. He gets one as the guy uses his free hand to pull down the waistband of his own pants, and guides Dean’s hand inside. Dean grabs his cock and slides his hand down towards the base of it, unsure of exactly how to hold the other man. He tries jerking the guy like he would himself, but it’s a strange thing to do from another angle.

The dancer’s hand on Dean’s cock starts to move faster, and all hope of Dean focusing on the other man at all completely flies out the window.

“Come for me.” The words are growled just below Dean’s ear; he can feel the man’s breath vibrating against his skin.

And that’s all it takes. Dean’s orgasm bursts onto the stranger’s hand. He releases the other man’s erection without really realising it. He leans his head back against the brick wall as he comes down and the man takes the opportunity to trail kisses down the centre of his throat. It makes Dean shiver although his skin feels hot all over. Dean doesn’t know what to do so he tucks himself back in his jeans. He begins to apologize for the mess he’s made all over the poor guy’s hand just as he pulls a tissue out of his pocket and wipes himself clean.

Dean grabs the man’s wrist, pulling him closer. “Thank you.” They meet eyes again, before Dean glances down to the man’s own obvious erection. “Um… you sure I can’t help you with that?”

“I’d like that very much… but I’m afraid I need to get back to work.”

Dean raises an eye at that. “They’ll seriously let you back on the dance floor like that? Wouldn’t that distract the other, uh, patrons?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You really don’t do this that much, do you?”

The man smiles, and then blushes, looking down at his feet. “It’s that obvious?”

“It’s alright, neither do I. Here,” Dean spins the man around slowly, deciding it’s his turn to be backed up against a wall. “Let me help you out.” 

Dean slides his hands back down the guy’s pants, feeling oddly proud that his dick is still fully hard. He draws his hand out once, and spits on his palm before resuming his task. The second his slick hand touches the man’s cock it elicits a low keening sound from him. He snakes his free hand behind the man’s neck, reaching up to grab at his hair and kiss him hard. When the man begins to thrust into Dean’s grip in earnest he speeds up his pace, but keeps it steady. A strangled gasp in that impossibly rough voice is all the warning Dean gets before he feels the splash of hot come on his wrist. The man comes down with ragged breaths, his eyes trained on Dean.

Although he’s not the one with his dick still hanging out of his pants, Dean feels exposed and awkward so he tries for some levity. “Still got any of those tissues left?” 

The other man obliges, and Dean focuses on cleaning his own hand this time.

“I really… I really do have to get back to work now. This was rather a long smoke break for someone who doesn’t smoke.”

Of course. Dean has had enough of these experiences with women to know how they usually end. Names are sometimes exchanged, numbers less often so, and both are usually forgotten.

“I’m Castiel, by the way.”

“Dean.” He hopes the surprise at the introduction is not too plain on his face.

“So, Dean…”

“Yeah?” This is it. Dean’s going to get the brush-off.

“Are you coming back inside the club?”

Why, so you can lose me in there? is Dean’s immediate thought. “Um…”

“Because I’m off shift in an hour.”

Oh.

“Unless you have somewhere to be, of course.”

“Not particularly, no.”

Castiel’s shoulders relax, and he smiles easily. “I can get you a free drink, or two, if you don’t mind waiting. You can park at the bar, where it’ll be safer.”

The comment earns him a swat on the shoulder, but Dean makes sure it’s a friendly one. “So does this mean I don’t taste like an ashtray?”

“Oh, you most certainly do.” There’s that cheeky, toothy grin again. “I just may be developing a tolerance.” He leans in to kiss Dean again before heading back towards the staff entrance. “Are you going to be a bad influence on me?”

“I sure hope so, Cas. I hope so.”


End file.
